Time's Demon Read online

  “So you could have brought him the gold yourself, but you wanted to send me instead, as a way of proving yourself.”

  “Somethin’ like that, yeah.” He smiled again, opening his hands. “No harm done, right? You get a bit of silver. He gets some gold that I owe him. And I get to play with the big boys.”

  Cresten considered this. “That’s fair. When do I Span for you again?”

  Quinn’s smile broadened. “Soon, lad. I promise.” True to his word, Quinn had a new job for him within a few days. The innkeeper told him to take an extra set of clothes with him to the waterfront when he went to the gaaz beds in the morning. He hid the clothes in a safe spot before doing his usual work for the day.

  That evening, after supper, he and Quinn returned to the rise overlooking the village.

  “You’re clear on what I want you to do?” Quinn asked, staring off to the west while Cresten prepared to Span.

  Quinn had repeated his instructions several times, until Cresten wanted to shout at him to stop.

  “Yes,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

  And failing.

  “No need to be sharp, lad. I’m only makin’ sure.”

  “I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  “Sure you will. Off with you now. Find me when you’re back.”

  Cresten activated the sextant and surged into the gap. This Span took longer even than the previous ones, and though he had prepared himself, he had to fight off the rising panic of being trapped for so long in that storm of wind and color, sounds and smells. For several spirecounts after his arrival at the strand, he could do little more than breathe and close his eyes against wave after wave of dizziness.

  Yet he couldn’t help but be pleased. Again, he had Spanned to precisely the spot he intended. He took no small satisfaction in proving the chancellor and Master Denmys wrong.

  He reclaimed his clothes and hid his sextant where they had been. This was the part of their plan that bothered him most, but Quinn had insisted.

  “The men you’ll be dealin’ with,” he’d said, “they wouldn’t scruple to steal a Bound sextant from a priestess, much less a lad your age. It’ll be safer wherever you hide it.”

  “Do I need to use the sextant at all? Can’t I just walk?”

  “No, lad. Paegar doesn’t want you being followed, and neither do I. It’s best for all if you Span.”

  Best for all except me.

  The innkeeper also ordered him to take a weapon. Cresten had hidden a borrowed knife with his clothes. Once he was dressed, he followed the shoreline to the wharves, and made his way to a ship that was moored at the end of the southernmost pier: The Blue Harper. The air was heavier here, scented with kelp and fish and ship’s tar.

  Sailors lingered on the ship’s deck, which glowed with torches.

  “Ahoy, The Blue Harper!” he called, as Quinn had taught him.

  The ship’s crew leered down at him.

  “Who are you?” one of the men demanded.

  “Quinn sent me.”

  Most didn’t react to this, but the sailor who had spoken said, “Stay there.”

  He stepped away from the rail and Cresten lost sight of him.

  Soon enough, he came back with a second man. They descended a steep plank to the dock and approached him. Both were large, pale-skinned, and bald, save for narrow plaits of red hair that grew from the back of their heads. Cresten assumed they hailed from the isles of the Knot.

  The second sailor eyed Cresten and surveyed the wharf. “You alone, boy?”

  “Yes.” Cresten spoke without inflection, hoping to hide his fear.

  “Quinn send money?”

  The barkeep had prepared him for this. “You know he didn’t. That wasn’t the arrangement.”

  The two men shared a glance. Cresten’s heart pounded.

  “They won’t hurt you,” Quinn had said. “I promise they won’t. They want this deal as much as I do, and they know what has to be done. But that won’t keep them from tryin’ to scare you if they think they’ll profit from it. Don’t let them see you’re frightened. That’s the secret.”

  “You know a lot for a little boy,” the first man said now. Cresten merely waited.

  “Fine then,” the second man said. He pulled from within his coat a parcel, wrapped in grimy cloth.

  He held it out, but when Cresten tried to take it, the man put his other hand over Cresten’s, lightning fast, trapping him.

  “You listen to me, boy. This is worth more than your life. A lot more. Steal from me, fail to bring me my money, and I swear I’ll kill you. I’ll cut off your hands and your tongue, and your tiny little prick. And then I’ll slit your throat. You catch?”

  Cresten trembled, his breathing unsteady and desperate. He couldn’t bring himself to speak a word, but he dropped his chin once.

  “I’ll be waiting right here for the gold. You take more than a bell, and I’ll hunt you down. Now get going.” He released Cresten’s hand and shoved him away.

  Cresten reeled, righted himself. He hastened from the ship and the men, breaking into a run before he reached the end of the wharf. The parcel was about the size and shape of a loaf of bread, but considerably heavier, as if it were made of stone or metal or glass. Running with it wasn’t easy.

  Quinn had told him where to go next, but Cresten soon understood that his instructions had been too vague. He took the first lane the innkeeper described and ran some distance before realizing he had gone the wrong way. He backtracked, running still, gasping, terrified that his time would run out.

  Eventually he found the shop Quinn had described. It was the only one on the lane that remained open and lit from within.

  He pushed the door open and was greeted by musty air and the glow of oil lamps.

  “You must be Quinn’s friend.”

  A white-haired woman sat on a stool behind a wooden counter. She was heavy-set, her face cratered with scars from what must have been a near-fatal case of Herjean pox.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Bring it here. Let me see.” Her voice was gravelly, but she offered a smile that exposed yellow teeth.

  He crossed to her and handed her the parcel. She started to pull the cloth away, but stopped before the object within was exposed.

  “You know what this is?”

  Cresten shook his head, hoping she would show him, knowing that Quinn would never tell him, even if he dared to ask.

  “Thought not. Best we keep it that way. If Quinn wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply, but rose from the stool and shouldered aside a pair of curtains. She remained behind the curtains for some time. Cresten’s apprehension grew. He had taken too long to get here, and the sailor’s threat had been vivid, to say the least. The more time the woman wasted, the greater the danger when he returned to the wharf.

  She pushed through the curtains.

  “All was as it should be. I thank you.” She hefted a leather purse. “You don’t want my thanks, do you? Neither does Quinn.” She opened the purse and emptied its contents onto the counter with the musical clangor of coins.

  Cresten couldn’t help but gape. He had never seen so many gold rounds in one place.

  The woman counted out five and set them aside before dropping the others, at least seven, back in the purse.

  She pushed the pile of five toward Cresten. “For Paegar.” She gave the purse a small shake and held it out to him. “For the smugglers.”

  Cresten blinked, drawing a frown from the woman.

  “Said too much, have I?”

  “No, I… It’s all right.”

  “Our secret then. Yours and mine.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took the purse from her and slipped the five rounds into his pocket. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very polite. I appreciate that.” She motioned toward the door. “On your way then. It’s late, and the men waiting for you aren’t known for their patience.”

  Cresten left
her and walked at speed through the empty streets, the jangle of coins with every step as loud as a clarion. He pressed his hand to the leg of his breeches, muffling the sound.

  “Isn’t it late for you to be walking the lanes?”

  Cresten jumped and spun at the voice.

  “Droë. You scared me.”

  She looked as she always did, like the most exquisite of children. Moonlight gleamed in her golden hair, and in her milky eyes. “You weren’t at the strand tonight. I waited for you.”

  “I’m sorry, I was… I’m working.”

  “I sense your fear.”

  I’m on my way to treat with smugglers. “I’m all right.”

  He resumed walking, and she fell in step with him.

  “What kind of work are you doing? What’s in that purse?”

  “I don’t think I should tell you. I could get in trouble.”

  The Tirribin scowled. “You don’t trust me.”

  “No, it’s not that. I have to… You’re right. I am frightened. The men who are waiting for this gold are… They’re dangerous.”

  “Not for me,” she said, speaking with such confidence that he couldn’t help but think of Tache lying dead in the moonlight. “I can help you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea either.” He swiped at a mosquito buzzing his ear. The coins in his pocket rang with his next step.

  “More gold,” she said.

  “Yes. For another man.” He slowed, instinct bringing renewed trepidation. This was why the sailor threatened him, why he forced Cresten to rush. He would know that Cresten still carried Moar’s gold as well. “They’re going to steal it from me,” he said, to himself as much as to her.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t. I’m guessing.” He regarded her. You don’t trust me. The truth was, he did, more than he trusted anyone else. “Do you really want to help me?”

  Her eyes widened and she nodded. Cresten produced the five rounds from his pocket.

  “I can’t carry these when I give the men this purse. Would you hold them for me?”

  “Humans are very protective of their gold,” she said, her voice low. “I’ve seen it. You would trust me with this?”

  “Yes. You’re my friend, right?”

  The demon’s smile exposed her needle teeth. Cresten didn’t allow himself to recoil. She opened her hand and he placed the gold on her palm.

  “Just until after I give the men this purse. Then I need it back.”

  She gave a shrug. “I have no use for gold.”

  Which is why I trust you. “If something happens to me, please see that it gets to Quinn at the Brazen Hound.”

  “I will.”

  They continued apace to the wharf. Cresten left her at the head of the pier and walked alone to The Blue Harper. He slowed as he neared the ship, expecting the men to ambush him, his eyes straining in the darkness.

  “Ahoy, The Blue Harper!”

  A figure appeared at the rails. With only a single torch burning on the ship’s deck, Cresten could barely make out the man’s form. His face was shrouded in shadow. He believed this was the second man to whom he’d spoken, the one who had threatened him. He wondered where the first sailor was. They’re smugglers.

  “Palace boy,” the man said. He walked to the plank and started down toward the wharf. “’Bout time. We was about to go searching for you. We were already sharpening our blades.” He laughed.

  Cresten held his tongue.

  “You have my gold?” the man asked as he stepped onto the pier.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Grab him.”

  Cresten had no time to react. Hands like iron vises clamped onto him, one at his shoulder, one at his neck. He struggled to get free, but the man who held him tightened his grip on Cresten’s throat.

  “Keep fighting, and I’ll kill you,” the man said, mouth at his ear, his breath stinking of whiskey and pipe smoke. “Doesn’t matter to me. We get paid either way.”

  He went still.

  “That’s a good lad. Where’s the gold?”

  Cresten shook the purse. “Right here.”

  The second man had reached them by now. He ripped the purse from Cresten’s grasp and poured the contents into his hand.

  “Is it all there?” his companion asked.

  “Hard to see in this light. Hold on.” He walked back to the ship and the dim glow of that lone torch. After a tencount, he returned. “That’s all of it. Our share, that is.”

  The man holding Cresten gave him a bone-rattling jerk. “Now then, lad, where is the gold for Moar?”

  Scared as he was, Cresten took pride in having anticipated this. It might not save his life, but at least it would help Quinn.

  “I haven’t got it,” he said.

  The man shook him again. His vision swam. “You’re lying!”

  “I’m not. You can search my pockets. I haven’t got it.”

  The second man loomed before him. Something shone in his right hand. An instant later, cold steel pressed against the corner of Cresten’s eye.

  “You willing to trade an eye for that gold, palace boy?”

  He swallowed, keeping utterly still, terrified that the man holding him would shake him again.

  “I’ll ask one more time: where’s the rest of the gold?”

  “I swear I don’t have it.”

  The knife flashed. After a moment’s delay, pain reached him. Hot and stinging. He cried out. Not his eye, but the flesh beside it. Warm blood flowed over his cheek and jawline.

  “This is no game, boy,” the first man said, mouth still close. “And next time he’ll take something vital.”

  “I told you to search me! I don’t have it!”

  “Where is it then?” The second man.

  Cresten raised his chin. “Someplace safe.”

  “Kill him,” the first man said. “Thinks he can outsmart us. Little shit. Cut his throat and dump him in the bay. That’s what I say.”

  “I say that you’re both very rude.”

  Droë. Cresten didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more frightened.

  The second man looked past the first. The first man turned, dragging Cresten with him. The Tirribin stood a few paces away, appearing tiny and innocent.

  “Who are you?” the second smuggler demanded.

  “Is that blood on your face?” Droë asked, ignoring the man. Cresten heard a rasp in her voice that he recalled from the night Tache died.

  “Yes.”

  “He cut you.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “I asked you a question, girlie.”

  “You’re very rude,” she said, the rasp thickening her words. “I’m his friend. And if you don’t release him now, you will both pay a dear price in years.”

  “A price in years,” the first man said. “What does she mean by that?”

  At the same time, the second man muttered a curse and said, “Let him go.”

  “What?”

  “Let him go! Now!”

  The man holding Cresten pushed him away. Cresten fell to his knees. The Tirribin snarled.

  “Droë, don’t!”

  He thought it might be too late, but though she held herself coiled, like a hunting cat, she didn’t attack.

  “If either of you ever hurts him again, or threatens him, or says anything that makes him frightened, I will take all your years. You will be nothing but husk. Do you understand?”

  “Who are you to–”

  “Shut up!” the second man said. To Droë, he said, “We understand. We won’t hurt him. We didn’t know you had claimed him as a friend. We’re… We’re sorry.”

  “Say it to him,” she growled.

  The man pivoted toward Cresten. “I’m sorry I cut you. It won’t happen again.”

  “Why are you apologizing to him? What’s wrong with you? A wisp of a thing talks mean, and all of a sudden–”

  He got out no more. Droë sprung at him and clamped onto his neck
. He dwarfed her, but still she managed to knock him to the wood, an oily glow of colored light clinging to them both. The man screamed and flailed at her, though with no effect.

  Cresten opened his mouth to shout her name again, but he didn’t have to. Less than a heartbeat later, she detached herself from the man and stepped away. He lay on his back, his chest rising and falling. Even this far from the ship and its torch, Cresten could see that he had changed. His cheeks were sunken, his face lined with years that hadn’t marked him before her attack.

  “That was only some of your years,” Droë said, her voice husky. “I could take more, and I will if you speak of me or my friend in that way again.”

  She walked away. Cresten backed away from the men. When he reached the end of the pier, he spun and ran after Droë.

  “I should have taken all their years,” she said, as he pulled abreast of her.

  “It’s probably best for me that you didn’t. But thank you for helping me. I’m…” He almost said, I’m in your debt, but thought that might be a risky thing to say to an Ancient. Instead, he said, “I’m grateful to you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She held out Moar’s gold and he took it from her. “I could have fed more, and now I need to do so. I shouldn’t be with you right now. I believe you’re safe from them. Less so from me.”

  He shuddered. “Yes, thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon.”

  The Tirribin nodded, but already she was walking away from him. After a few steps, her form blurred and she sped away. Grateful as he was for what she had done, he was glad to have her gone. He sprinted to where he had hidden his sextant, conscious of the blood drying on his cheek and chin. He removed his clothes, hid them, and slipped the coins under his tongue, gagging as he did. Breathing through his nose, he aimed and calibrated the sextant, and Spanned to Moar’s house. As instructed, he left the gold in a small purse within the stone wall and Spanned again, this time back to the rise near the tavern. After pulling on his clothes, he scampered to the Brazen Hound.